


“I drove all the way to fucking Yorkshire.”

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: First Kisses [49]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 01:57:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18790696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: I had a few requests for Shanker’s intervention when I was doing the First Kisses, but could never quite work out how that would look. Then this happened.





	“I drove all the way to fucking Yorkshire.”

Strike sighed and tried not to look at Robin’s steely glare and set jaw. He knew that mutinous look. He wasn’t going to get away with this.

But, damn it, he had to try.

He glanced around the outer office, taking a deep breath. He could feel Robin glaring at him. Barclay had his head ducked, concentrating hard on his noodles, chasing every last beansprout around the container as though he had had a sudden epiphany on the subject of vegetables. Shanker had produced a rather alarming-looking flick knife from apparently nowhere and was inspecting the blade for sharpness.

 _Think,_ he thought to himself. _There has to be a decent reason that Robin can’t do this._

“Redhead—” he began.

“—is doing absolutely nothing dodgy, and will continue do to absolutely nothing dodgy without me watching her for one day.” Robin said firmly.

Strike waved a hand vaguely in the direction of Barclay. “Sam—”

The man in question bent his head further, excavating a corner of his takeaway container as though there might be some as yet undiscovered scrap of beef lurking there. A smirk played around the corner of his mouth, adding irritation to Strike’s list of woes.

“—is almost there with the drugs ring, and can’t just not show up for his rendezvous.” Robin’s voice had a determined, slightly triumphant quality. She knew she had him cornered.

Strike’s brain ran frantically through the options. Hutchins was out sick, struggling with his MS again. Strike himself and Shanker would be in situ making it look like they were carrying out the transaction in question. Logically, Robin was best placed to take the pictures from afar. But he didn’t want her anywhere near this case. The marks they were attempting to trap were far too dangerous. Strike knew they’d have their own people watching from a distance as an insurance policy. If one of them spotted Robin and realised she was surveilling the operation, her safety as well as the success of the mission would be in jeopardy. He couldn’t risk it.

The fact remained, though, that she was one of the few people he knew with the skills to do it, and do it well and covertly. The success of their mission lay in the quality of the evidence collected. And he himself couldn’t be conducting the transaction as well as taking the photographs.

He’d hesitated too long.

“I’m not comfortable with it,” he said finally. “It’s too risky. We’ll have to tackle this another way, or another time.”

“Why?” Robin demanded. “You think I’m not up to the job?”

“Well, tha’s me done,” Barclay said briskly, standing. _Coward,_ thought Strike. “I’ll be off, then. Thanks fae the food.”

Robin gave him a tight smile. “Thank you, Sam,” she said. “Good luck tomorrow.”

Barclay nodded, plonking his empty container on the side by the sink. He grabbed his jacket from the coat stand, bade them all good night and left.

There was a slightly strained silence in the little office as Barclay’s clomping boots faded down the stairs. Strike glared at Shanker and wished he would leave too, but there seemed to be no hope of that. Shanker was looking from Robin to Strike and back again with amused interest. He wanted to see how this would play out.

Strike sighed. “I just—”

“Just what?” She was properly cross now, he could tell. “Just afraid that I’ll mess it up? That my hair is too visible? That I’m too delicate to cope?”

“No, just—” Strike gestured hopelessly.

“Just what? _What,_ Cormoran?”

“Ah, for fuck’s sake!” Shanker said at last, standing in an echo of Barclay’s hurried exit. He, too, moved to put his takeaway carton next to the sink, then turned back to regard the two detectives facing off against one another, one knowing he was beaten but resolute, the other anxious and upset but equally determined to hold her ground.

“He won’ let you do it in case you get ’urt, Rob.”

Robin’s gaze swung from her partner to Shanker. “Because he thinks I’m not up to it.”

“No, because ’e’s fuckin’ in love with you.”

“Shanker, for fuck’s sake!” Strike exploded. His friend swung towards him.

“An’ she wants to do it so she can keep an eye on you, cos she’s in love with you an’ all,” he stated. Robin uttered a tiny squeak, her face scarlet.

Silence descended. Robin glared at Shanker, her eyes red-rimmed. Strike glared at Shanker, fury in his dark gaze.

Shanker shrugged, reaching for his coat. “Jesus Christ, you two,” he said. “I drove all the way to fucking Yorkshire an’ you still didn’ get yer act together. ’Ow long are you gonna do this? It’s gettin’ old.”

He pulled the door open. “Let me know what you decide, yeah, Bunsen?” And then he was gone, his lighter, trainered feet making less of a noise on the stairs than Barclay’s but leaving a deeper, more awkward silence behind.

A full minute passed.

Strike cleared his throat and got up to clear the cartons away and pick up the empty beer cans. Robin sat frozen at her desk, her cheeks pink and her breathing irregular.

Strike fiddled about with the cartons for a few moments, then took a deep breath and swung to face her.

“Robin—”

“Cormoran—”

They spoke at the same time, and both stopped.

Robin stood. She raised her gaze slowly, shyly, to Strike’s. The hope he saw in her eyes took his breath away. He stepped forwards.

Robin stepped closer too, her eyes searching his, taking strength in the look he was giving her, a guarded, fond look.

“Shanker—” she began.

“Yeah?” His voice was rough. He took another step towards her.

“He—he’s not wrong.” Her voice shook. She took another step too.

“No.”

“So...” she hesitated, hopeful, afraid.

“Oh, God, c’mere,” Strike heard himself say, reaching for her, and he took the last step and kissed her.

With a little sigh, she melted against him at once, her arms slipping around him. Strike had one hand in the small of her back, pulling her close, and one hand sliding into her hair, unsure of when his hands had chosen to seize hold of her like this. Her mouth opened beneath his, inviting him to explore, and he was lost in her. Her hands slid up his back, caressing him through his shirt, clinging to his shoulder blades as he kissed and kissed her, his tongue seeking hers, tasting her, sweeping into her mouth.

Long minutes passed as they kissed, until eventually Strike drew back gently and rested his forehead on hers. Robin clung to him, panting a little.

“No,” Strike repeated, smiling softly. “He’s not wrong.”

Robin grinned and kissed him again.

 


End file.
